


Always Hope

by Whytejigsaw



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-09
Updated: 2012-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-15 23:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whytejigsaw/pseuds/Whytejigsaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Reichenbach Falls, Sherlock adjusts to his old life, and Molly adjusts to living alone again. She maintains a faint hope that something has changed in their relationship, despite all evidence to the contrary. Beta'd by ThinkswithPen, as always.  This idea is based on Loo Brealey’s question to Benedict at Cheltenham as to whether is hope for Molly and he says there was always hope for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

In the time that necessarily followed Sherlock’s “suicide” and his eventual return, he turned to Molly for shelter and aid. And of course, she was more than capable of helping, both with faking his death and temporary housing. She told herself that she would have done the same for any of her friends but even she knew that was a lie. The list of people she would risk her career for had exactly one name on it. So it was lucky for him that it was Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock knew that he was imposing on her affection for him when he asked for her assistance, but he literally had no one else. Besides, he’d been presuming on her emotional weakness for years now, it was habit. Which was not to say that he didn’t appreciate the help. Of course he did. John, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade were all alive, and, though they did not know it, they had Molly to thank for their lives. They were grieving for him right now, granted, and he grieved the loss of his chosen companion, career and home.

Two months passed. Sherlock, reluctantly assisted by Mycroft, successfully cleared his name and was restored to his former life. He packed up his few possessions and closed the door on Molly’s spare room. She was waiting in her sitting room. When he came in, she stood up, tears in her eyes.

“What’s the matter?” he said quickly.

“It’s so silly of me, I just got used to having human company around the place. I knew this day would come but I’m…I’m sad to see you leaving.”

Sherlock was deeply uncomfortable with this display. He had done his best not to encourage Molly’s feelings in the time he’d been there. Indeed, he’d hoped that familiarity would breed discontent. Apparently not. Abandoning all decorum, Molly threw her arms around him and hugged. He allowed the hug, thinking idly how tiny she was. She barely came up to his chest. After a minute, because the hug seemed to be continuing, he awkwardly patted her shoulder and said;

“It’s all right, Molly. I’ll be taking cases again. We’ll see each other at work.”

She nodded, pulling herself together at last and disengaging.

“Thank you for everything. The story, when it comes out, will unavoidably mention your involvement but Mycroft will ensure there’s no ramifications for your job. You deserve only praise and that’s all you’ll get from me.”

“All I’ll get from you?” Molly sounded confused. Did he think she expected something else? 

“Well, you have my eternal gratitude too.”

Deciding this had been prolonged quite enough, Sherlock swept out of the room. Molly collapsed down on the sofa, the silence of the sitting room was already uncomfortable.

Outside, Sherlock leaned against the wall for a minute. His inner monologue, or perhaps his conscience, always in John’s voice, asked “would it have killed you to acknowledge how much she now means to you?” Yes, it’s not fair to give her hope, he thought, when I don’t know if I’m capable of in that area. They both had the rest of their lives ahead of them, and he couldn’t very well ask her to wait while he got himself together.


	2. Chapter II

Life at Baker St quickly returned to its status quo. Sherlock got over the beating John had given him on discovering the massive deception, though he did think a broken rib was taking it a bit too far. John was at least contrite about it, which Sherlock milked for all the tea and sandwiches it was worth. John had insisted on a big blog write-up of what he called “The Reichenbach Fall”. It detailed most of how Sherlock and Molly had faked his death but left out a couple of key pieces to leave “an air of mystery” about it. John felt this would be good for business. Sherlock didn’t care. But fairly quickly, John was proven right: the cases rolled in. And now that he had the notoriety, the crazies came with it. The first email came about 2 days after the blog post went up. John insisted on reading it aloud.

Dear Dr Watson,

I am long-time reader of your adventures with Sherlock Holmes and always look forward to a new write-up, especially so now that I can expect many more in the future. Your recent blog post, detailing how Sherlock faked his death with the help of Dr Molly Hooper, seems to be missing a key part of the story. What is their relationship? It seems to me that she risked her whole career to help him. That’s not kind of thing one does for just anyone. I know you were not privy to the time they spent together when he was in hiding, but surely you, of all people, can find out. Enquiring minds want to know.

Yours sincerely,

Cheryl Daly

John was highly amused.

“So you see, Sherlock, you pull off the greatest magic trick of the decade, restore your name and bring down a dangerous criminal network and what people really want to know is “did you score?!” That’s brilliant.”

“People will have their tiny gossips, I suppose.”

“Oh quite, it’s very petty of them.”

He paused.

“Did you, er, have anything to report on that front, actually?” said John nonchalantly.

Sherlock glanced up at him. 

“Ah. Did you write that email yourself then?”

“No! Look, there’s 3 others from different people, one’s a guy, asking the same thing,” John blustered.

“But I am interested in the question, which you think you deflected. Don’t think I didn’t notice!” he continued.

“Nothing happened between myself and Dr Hooper.”

“Oh we’re back to Dr Hooper now. Come on, I know you both. She’s mad about you. All that time, cooped up in her apartment, you must have gotten to know her very well. It’s practically the plot of a romantic comedy. In fact, I think Renee Zellweger is in it. I know you’re not completely immune to women. And Molly is undeniably cute and funny and smart.”

Sherlock issued a level 5 glare but John was undaunted. It would need to be at least a level 8 before he’d give up.

“So you didn’t even try to get off with her? Not even for, what would you call it…the experiment?”

“Of course not!” Sherlock looked horrified at the notion, to his credit.

“Come on. What’s wrong with you? Are you not a man? Pretty girl risking everything to help you. You’re staying with her…I bet you did household chores for her and all. What is it? You think you’d be distracted from your work.”

Level 7 was forthcoming.

“Oh, so that’s it. You think women are kryptonite?”

“Of course they are!” Sherlock snapped.

John didn’t know which issue to tackle first. He went for the easier option.

“You know what kryptonite is?” asked John.

“Doesn’t everyone?” he retorted

“Well, yes, but I remember when you didn’t know how the solar system worked, so the notion that you know what a fictional element in a comic book about superheroes is, surprises me.”

“I was a little boy once. I read comic books.”

“True. And little boys usually grow up to be men who are interested in sex. Which brings me back to our actual topic. So are you saying that you might be interested in Dr Hooper but are afraid of the ramifications for your work?”

“I have no plans to act on any hopes she may be entertaining.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Sherlock unleashed level 8 – the face melter glare. John knew he should give up, for now.

“Ok, I’ll let you off the hook now…but we will come back to this topic. How shall I answer these questions on the blog?”

“Do whatever you like.”

So John posted this:

Many readers have emailed asking me to comment on the nature of the relationship between Sherlock and Dr Molly Hooper. I asked Sherlock for a quote and he said;

“Nothing happened between myself and Dr Hooper.”

I’m sure canny readers will see through this non-answer and draw their own conclusions.

Until next time,

John

While most people would not approach Sherlock on this subject, they had no qualms asking Molly, now that the story was out. Poor Molly was on the receiving end of a lot of questions and texts.

What’s going on with you and Sherlock?  
Meena

Nothing! I wish people would believe me.  
Molly

“My own daughter was living in sin with a man for two months & I find out in the newspaper…” was the start of a very tiresome phone call with her mother, in which Molly had done her best to dissuade her from the notion of forthcoming grandchildren. 

Even DS Sally Donovan, when delivering a body to the morgue couldn’t resist digging a little.

“So you and the Freak then? Must say I was surprised.”

“There’s nothing going on between me and Sherlock.”

“Then why have you gone tomato red?”

“Because it’s mortifying to have one’s lack of a personal life paraded about.”

“Cheer up…it’d be much worse if you actually had to admit he was your boyfriend…can you imagine him deducing you in the bedroom?!” Donovan actually shuddered as she said it.

Molly was glad to see the back of her. Gosh, she was probably right about the deductions…he did them everywhere else… But she did have to admit that people’s interest was understandable. They had spent all that time together. It had been really quite cordial, and even domestic, after an initial teething period of, well, torture. She’d come home to find her furniture rearranged into what Sherlock called “the optimal configuration” or find the kitchen turned into the set of a Royal Institute’s Christmas lecture. Once, most unexpectedly, he’d actually cleaned up the kitchen and cooked a passable dinner. It had been her birthday, she didn’t think he knew (of course he knew). It was almost like a date, she whispered. Except everyone knew that dates at home on birthdays ended in birthday sex, which had most decidedly not happened. But he had condescended to watch Glee with her, and that was almost as good. One small part of her couldn’t let go of the hope that he’d wake up one morning and say “What’s wrong with me? Why isn’t Molly my girlfriend?”

*o*o*o*

Meanwhile, John had let a few days pass before bringing up the subject again.

“But what is wrong with you Sherlock? Why wouldn’t you want her?”

“I said we were not going to discuss this.”

“And yet, we are.”

“Alright, I’ll explain it once and then I never want to hear about it again.”

“Fine,” said John. He hadn’t expected such an easy capitulation.

Sherlock stood up and began pacing the room.

“Women are distracting. On many levels. They give evidence badly. They notice the colour of cars rather than the licence plate. They give their opinions too freely when I just want the facts. I decided years ago it was easier to just ignore them completely. And they smell really really good. It’s intoxicating. The way they care about animals, and hand cream, and stupid TV show characters who inexplicably sing all the time. She’s driving me demented, John. In the end, I brought down Moriarty’s network more quickly than intended just so I could get away from her. Sitting there, in her oversized pyjamas, distracting me. Why doesn’t she wear clothes that fit her? What’s she hiding? And don’t get me started on the baking. Do you know that Molly bakes all the time? Cute little fairy cakes and scones, all things that are individually sized. She kept feeding me, John. It was torture. Even now, just recalling it. And I haven’t even seen her since I left. I need a bloody cigarette!”

He broke off abruptly to extract a packet from inside the skull on the mantelpiece. John blew out a long whistle and grinned wryly at his flatmate.

“So, not just kryptonite then, red kryptonite?”

“Yep. Poisonous, intoxicating superpower draining kryptonite.” Sherlock lit the cigarette and inhaled like his life depended on it.

“Only you would compare romantic feelings for a woman to the loss of superpowers. I do have one question though.”

“Oh yes?”

“What is she distracting you from now? You had an excuse before – Moriarty’s network – but now, you’re unemployed again.”

“I’m sure I’ll have a case soon. Have you checked the email today?”

“Don’t get sidetracked. Do you really think you couldn’t manage a girlfriend and working? Ordinary people, as you call us, can do it, so surely you could.”

John felt that appealing to Sherlock’s enormous ego was the way to go here. But Molly should probably have a say in the matter too.

“At any rate: think about it. Possibly talk to the distracting, sweet-smelling, domestic goddess herself.”

“I wasn’t talking about Molly specifically.”

“Uhuh, and you spend time with what other women, exactly? Who watch Glee? You said this wasn’t your area once. It’s mine,” John smugly folded his arms.


	3. Chapter III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks to everyone who has read/followed/reviewed. Special thanks to MadasahatterJayy for giving me an idea.

Mycroft was sitting in his office. It was the epitome of early 20th century colonial style. He knew it was a little odd to decorate like the colonies when one lived in the capital but there was, as they say, no accounting for taste. He was reviewing the camera footage from Baker St. Even though Sherlock had been officially dead, Mycroft had not pulled the surveillance cameras and now it had become quite useful. An exchange between his brother and John Watson had just revelled a secret. Sherlock had been very clever this time. When he bothered, Mycroft was far smarter than his little brother. It’s true he was rarely bothered. Sherlock had been nursing a fixation on the good Dr Hooper. He’d kept it well hidden. Also good news, less so for his figure, was that the lady in question liked to bake. Mycroft was going to have to pay her a visit. To offer his sincere thanks, of course.

oOo

After doing the autopsy, Molly knew she was going to see Sherlock soon. Sally Donovan’s delivery had proved too complicated a mystery for Lestrade’s team and they’d called him in. It was still strange to not see him everyday – though it was well over a week since he moved back to Baker St. She sent him an email attaching the autopsy results – maybe that would do him.

An hour later, when he breezed into the morgue, wearing his ridiculous coat even though it was the summer, she knew she’d been wrong. John was in tow and she greeted him warmly.

“John, how are you?”

“Just fine, Molly. I’ve forgiven you for your part in the enormous deception.”

“I notice Molly doesn’t have any broken ribs from the “forgiving”, grimaced Sherlock.

“Look, I said I was sorry. Can we just get passed this now, Sherlock?” said John.

“You broke his ribs? Was this immediately after you discovered he was alive?” 

Molly was surprised at the previously hidden ferocity of John.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” said John, adding; “how are you adjusting to life without Sherlock?”

Molly gave a nervous laugh.

“Well, it’s certainly quieter, calmer, cleaner. I can’t tell you how many times I almost praised your patience out loud during the time he was with me.”

“I am right here, you know, and you did praise John’s patience out loud, many times.”

“I meant to John, silly. Now, I was just about to have lunch. I brought in some extra scones – made a fresh batch last night.”

Sherlock raised his eyes in a “you see?” look at John, who burst out laughing.

“Molly, I would love a scone. Shall I make some tea?”

John went off to the kitchen, leaving the others alone for the first time in almost 2 weeks.

“How are you adjusting to being back, Sherlock?”

“Fine,” he said grumpily.

“I know I just slagged you off, but I do miss your company. You could always come over and hang out some time.”

“Do I look like someone who hangs out?” he snapped.

“No, I suppose not,” she replied sadly.

“Have you been eating properly? You look like you’ve lost a couple of pounds.”

“No, and yes, 3lbs. And you are not my mother.”

John heard the end of this exchange as he came back with a tray of hot beverages. He resisted the urge to throw them all at Sherlock. Clearly he was doing his best to push Molly away.

“Sherlock mentioned that you are an exceptional baker, Molly. Where did you learn that?”

“Oh, I took some classes – I’m hardly an expert. It was nice to have someone else to share what I made. Normally I only do buns or scones because whole cakes seem excessive for a woman who lives alone. My cat isn’t a fan.”

Molly wasn’t used to receiving compliments so she blushed a pleased smile as she explained.

“Right, can we get on with the case now?” Sherlock was chaffing at the bit to get back to work and all this chitchat irritated him.

“Well, you have the autopsy report already, the body’s over there, what more do you want?” said John, his mouth full of really quite good scones.

“I want Molly’s attention.”

“Oh do you now?” John couldn’t resist the tone of innuendo.

“Perhaps, on second thoughts, you can finish your lunch and I’ll just examine the body in the meantime,” interrupted Sherlock, before John could say anything worse.

“What was that about?” queried Molly, in a whisper.

“Oh nothing. I think he’s still adjusting to being back in the land of the living,” covered John. As much as he wanted to tease Sherlock and provoke a response, he didn’t want to embarrass Molly.

They ate while Sherlock worked and he was almost ready to go by the time they finished. John couldn’t help noticing that he snuck a scone into one of his voluminous pockets as they were leaving. Molly looked as if she wanted to hug him goodbye but held back.

As they walked out, John started his assault.

“You weren’t very nice to Molly back there. After all her help, you could have taken the time to sit for 5 minutes and be pleasant. She’s clearly been missing you.”

“No, she hasn’t! Didn’t you hear her say how her life was “calmer, quieter and cleaner” now?”

“Yes, but the subtext and her tone said that she wasn’t exactly thrilled about it. You were right about the baking though – excellent. Amazing that she doesn’t put on weight from it all. And I noticed you have a scone in your pocket. Why don’t you send her a text later saying how much you enjoyed it.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because, you big idiot, you like her and she likes you and nothing is going to happen unless you play nice.”

John was treated to a level 7 glare – the arctic tundra, so he shut up.

Meanwhile, Molly was opening an email from Mycroft Holmes.

Dear Dr Hooper,

I hope you will forgive the informality of an email when we’ve never really had much interaction. I was hoping to call on you later this evening for a quick chat – I wanted to thank you in person for all the help you gave my ungrateful brother. Would 7pm suit?

Yours sincerely,

Mycroft Holmes

Molly was quite surprised to get this email but she saw no harm in it, so replied in the affirmative. Some tidying would need to be done, but she would have plenty of time after work.

oOo

By 7pm, Molly had her flat tidy, some fairy cakes made and iced and the kettle on. She suspect the elder Holmes would be prompt and was not disappointed.

“Good evening, Dr Hooper.”

“Mycroft, I think you can call me Molly quite safely at this point. We do live in the 21st century,” she joked. Mycroft was doing his own version of Sherlock’s snap observations.  
She’s much more relaxed around me, a virtual stranger, than she is my brother. She obviously tidied up and baked just because I was coming. I do love a good fairy cake. She saw Sherlock today but he didn’t behave terribly well. The things I do for him…

Before long, they were happily chatting away, mostly about Sherlock and enjoying the buns. Mycroft could see she was besotted with Sherlock. It really gave new meaning to the “treat ‘em mean, keep ‘em keen” philosophy but of course he didn’t realise he was doing it. Ignorant clod.

Molly’s phone chimed and she glanced at it, surprised to see a message from Sherlock. At still more surprised to read:

Just having a scone from earlier.  
Delicious.  
SH

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and, proving it was a family trait, deduced:

“My little brother?”

“Yes, but I don’t have to go into work or anything.”

She decided to reply to him.

Thanks.  
Just having some tea with Mycroft.  
He’s telling all sorts of tales on you. ;p

Over at Baker St, Sherlock reacted to her reply.

“John!” he yelled.

“I am in the room with you, there’s no need to shout.”

“What does a semi-colon followed by a small p mean in text language,” Sherlock did quotation marks with his fingers.

John scratched his head.

“I’ve not seen that one before but I’d guess it’s a combination of a wink and a sticking your tongue out. Why?”

“My dear brother is over at Molly’s, embarrassing me.”

John was taken aback. It didn’t sound at all like Mycroft.

“What’s his game?”

“I would guess that he heard our conversation yesterday and is planting surveillance.”

Sherlock leaped up off the couch.

“Right, we should go over there.”

“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. What possible excuse could we have?”

Sherlock disappeared into his bedroom and returned, brandishing a pink silk scarf.

“I can return this – I accidentally took it when I was packing my things.”

John wasn’t falling for that nonsense.

“My arse! You never did anything by accident in your life. You deliberately took something of Molly’s. If that wasn’t so sweet, I’d say it was really creepy.”

Sherlock faltered at this startling display of perception from John.

“I told you: I know what I’m talking about when it comes to women. Now here’s what we’ll do. You’ll send back a seemingly innocuous text that she’ll read out. It will contain a veiled threat that only Mycroft will understand. And you will not go over there.”

Sherlock’s eyes glinted at the challenge. After a minute or two, he had it.

“There was a time when I was 9 and Mycroft was 16. We were playing in the garden. I was in the tree house and wouldn’t come down. He was forced to climb up, and he was quite overweight then. He stood on a branch that couldn’t support his weight and landed heavily, breaking his right ulna. I was unjustly blamed, when his lack of exercise and diet were clearly the cause.”

“Right. How is that a threat?”

“Well, obviously, I’m threatening to break his arm again.”

“Ooookay then. Say this “make sure he tells you about the time I caused him to break his arm.”

The text was sent and Molly duly read it out.

“Oh tell me that story!” she pleaded.

Mycroft paled just a tiny shade and cleared his throat.

“Ah, there’s nothing to it – he’s trying to embarrass me. Oh, is that the time? I really should be getting back to the office.”

“The office? At 8:17 on a Friday night?” 

“Yes, no rest for the civil service, I’m afraid. Thank you so much for the tea and cake, and of course for your immense bravery and help with the Moriarty situation. I’m sure Sherlock hasn’t adequately thanked you. I’ve arranged for some expenses to be lodged to your bank account.”

“That’s really not necessary.”

“Well, I insist. Room and board, if nothing else.”

As graceful as his brother, he glided out of the room. Molly was left wondering how he’d ever broken a bone.

Mycroft’s phone rang with impeccable timing as he left the building and stepped into his waiting car. Like many siblings, they had their own shorthand.

“Yes, Sherlock?”

“Stay away from Molly.”

“I was just thanking her for the help.”

“Don’t give me that crap.”

“Oh so you’re admitting it.”

“No.”

“Well, make sure you do something about it.”

“I think I will break your arm again.”

“Don’t even consider it.”

“I’m already planning it.”

“Don’t make me exert myself.”

“Well, you did have all that cake.”

Sherlock hung up, satisfied he’d warned off Mycroft and won that exchange.

Mycroft sat back in the car, satisfied that Sherlock would wise up and pay proper attention to Molly from now on. He’d clearly won that exchange.


	4. Chapter 4

The following day was a Saturday and Molly got down to some serious housework and life administration. She was paying her telephone bill online when she noticed a sizeable increase in her balance. Mycroft had put £10,000 in her account. Room and board! It was hardly like he stayed at the Ritz. She doubted her real expenses were more than £500 for the whole two months. And she would have paid a lot more than that to keep him safe. There was no way she could keep this money. She dithered about ringing Sherlock, but knew he hated phones, so decided to just call over later in the day. He was always dropping in on her unannounced.

With that plan decided, she finished her chores, and mentally scolding herself for the effort, prettied herself up. Molly wasn’t someone who cared what she wore to work, as long as it was clean and presentable, but she did try a bit harder outside of the morgue. Of course, Sherlock would notice the effort, and he’d pretty much seen all her clothes but sod him, the sun was shining, the sky was blue, who wouldn’t want to look pretty?

For once, Sherlock actually answered the door when he heard the bell. Usually he just yelled “it’s already open” or hoped Mrs Hudson or John would get it, but neither of them was home.

“Molly, what are you doing here?”

She felt the usual scrutiny of Sherlock’s gaze as he looked her up and down. She looked lovely in a pale green summer dress and white cardigan with sandals, her toenails painted to match the dress. He felt his icy demeanour melt just a little before he got himself together.

“I want to talk to you about Mycroft.”

This was clearly unwelcome but Sherlock opened the door wide and gestured inside.

“John’s not here,” he said, rather uselessly.

“I’m sure we’ll cope without him.”

Sherlock followed Molly up the stairs, trying not to watch her neat little bottom sway. He noticed she’d shaved her legs, but supposed women probably did that if they were going to display the whole lower half. What a ridiculous custom! The whole world like to pretend women didn’t have body hair. His silence must have been evident because Molly soon queried it.

“You look pensive. Trying to solve some dastardly dilemma in your head?”

“Just meditating on why society – never mind….what did Mycroft do?”

“Well, he was lovely. I don’t know why you make him out to be such a monster. Such pleasant manners. You’d never think the same parents raised you.”

Sherlock felt he had every right to be affronted by that remark. He’d show her. He ushered her inside and offered to take her cardigan.

“Would you like some tea?”

“Oh, well, it’s a bit hot for tea, Sherlock. Have you got any cold drinks?”

Sherlock approached the fridge with some trepidation, mentally scanning the list of body parts inside. 

“John’s got some foreign beer. Will that do?”

“Oh yes please.”

Molly was encouraged to see Sherlock deign to have a drink with her.

“So Mycroft, aside from telling me cute stories about you as a child, gave me £10,000.”

“What? Was this a bribe to stay away?”

“Er, no, as payment for my help and expenses when you stayed with me. Why would he bribe me? Stay away from who?”

“From whom. You’ll keep the money, of course,” he ordered.

“Sherlock – I can’t keep that money. Having you stay didn’t cost anywhere near that much and…” she fiddled with the belt of her dress, “I liked having you there.”

“You didn’t give me that impression the other day,” he replied softly.

“I told you: I was only messing,” she said. Her gaze fixed on something over Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Hey, is that my pink scarf? How did that get here?”

She was up off her seat and strolling across to the coat rack before Sherlock could reply.

“Er, yes, I meant to tell you. I must have picked it up by mistake when I was taking my own clothes from the laundry.”

“Ha. I’m surprised at you not noticing. It’s not like you own anything pink…”

Luckily, Molly was not as perceptive as John. But then, she wasn’t in possession of all the facts to make the correct deduction.

“So what will you do with the money?” said Sherlock, shifting back to safer topics.

“I’ll have to give it to charity.”

“Yes, the Molly Hooper needs new clothes that fit her properly is a very worthy cause.”

“Are you saying there’s something wrong with my clothes?” Molly’s tone of faux effrontery would have been unmistakable to most men. But this was the most singular of men and suddenly he worried that he had massively offended her, again, in this very room, again.

“I..that came out wrong. I just think you deserve some nice things and you never seem to spend money on clothes. You look lovely today, by the way.”

Molly’s eyes narrowed. She was all too familiar with that kind of flattery.

“You’re flattering me. You must want something.”

Sherlock held up his hands.

“May I remind you that you came over here, unannounced? I don’t want anything. At all.”

Sherlock’s Johnconscience whispered “liar”.

“So you really think it’s ok to keep the money?”

“Of course. Mycroft doesn’t make £10,000 mistakes – he wants you to have the money, and so do I.”

Molly gave a little squeal of delight and threw her arms around Sherlock, forcing him to brace himself. 

“Oooh, thank you! This is going to be fun.”

She squeezed her arms around him and, as he spoke, looked up at his face.

“I don’t know why you’re thanking me. It’s not my money.”

Sherlock felt rather overwhelmed at being hugged by her again. It was funny to think that she’d never even tried as much as a pat on the hand while he stayed at her flat and now, twice in less than two weeks, she was embracing him. However, having thought A LOT about the last hug, he was at least better prepared. Sherlock put one arm around Molly’s waist and caught her hand in his. In a move than surprised both of them, he whirled her around the room in a silent waltz.

Molly just went with it. She put her hand on his waist – they weren’t doing a proper waltz, although it was clear he had had dance lessons. Never in a million years would she have expected to celebrate a windfall by dancing with Sherlock, who was really hoping that John didn’t come home right this minute. As they completed a circuit of the room, Sherlock dipped Molly, carefully supporting her back. She pulled herself back up – her arms around his neck – her cheeks flushed, her eyes locked on his. Suddenly, it was far too intense, and Sherlock pulled away.

For an instant, Molly didn’t know what to say, but she recovered quickly and decided levity was the best course.

“So I can add dance lessons to your list of extensive talents?”  
Sherlock actually blushed and mumbled something about “mummy” and “forced”.

“Is this something I should not mention to John then?” Molly’s eyes sparkled at the notion of having secret knowledge of Sherlock.

“Yes, please. I’m getting quite enough mocking from him at the moment.”

“Oh really, what sort of mockery?” Molly was still giddy from the dancing, and the money, of course.

“Er, nothing. Nothing you can help with,” his tone of dismissal was unmistakable.

“Right. I guess I should go then.”

She picked up her cardigan and scarf.

“Wait,” said Sherlock.

Molly turned around to face him, her expression an insolent “what now”.

“I never…actually, just come into the kitchen for a minute,” he said, glancing at the bookcase.

“What? Why?”

“Just humour me.”

Molly thought that humouring Sherlock was already her second job but she followed him through the arch into a kitchen/lab mess. She stood on the opposite side of the table to him initially but came to stand right in front of her. Sherlock took her bag and put it down on the table and took both her hands in his.

“Sherlock?” her voice was tremulous. 

He said nothing but continued to hold her hands and gaze into her eyes.

“Will you say something? You’re frightening me. Is this where you tell me you have some terminal illness or that Moriarty’s not actually dead?”

Sherlock grinned broadly and he snorted out a laugh as he let go of her hands. Molly was totally confused now.

“I’m sorry. I was trying to be sincere and honest but obviously I need to work on it if you thought I might be going to tell you I had cancer. Which I don’t, by the way.”

Though he was trying to make light of it all, Molly wasn’t quite ready to let go yet.

“Sincere and honest about what?”

All of a sudden, Sherlock found himself wishing that John would come home now. He turned away from her and looked out the kitchen window. Molly was starting to pick up her bag when he spoke, taking a deep breath as if it would be hard for him.

“I don’t make friends easily – never have. John’s the exception, or I thought he was. But I find now that my list of friends has doubled to include you. In the time I spent at your flat, I got to know you really well. Observed a lot of curious quirks. What I didn’t expect was to miss your company when I came back home. You could say I’ve become accustomed to you.”

Molly’s jaw had dropped open at this speech and she was momentarily dumbfounded. Sherlock turned around to look at her now. She struggled to find the right words but he wasn’t quite finished.

“That’s not all. You see, there’s a problem with my analysis. I’ve done the research, checked with experts and all the results are the same.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want another friend.”

Molly was outraged. He makes this pretty little speech and she practically melts and then this…

He rushed over to her.

“No, you misunderstand. I don’t want to be friends with you.”

“No, I got that. We may not all be the great Sherlock Holmes but I am fluent in English!”

Dammit, this is not going well, thought Sherlock.

“Molly, I want us to be more than friends.”

Though she had imagined hearing some version of those words many times, Molly was quite sure she was awake, so the only solution was some kind of wind-up.

“Am I being filmed right now?” she asked finally.

“Of course not. I must admit that’s not the reaction I was expecting.”

“Ah, did you think I would fall for that then? Because the only scenario I can imagine where you tell me you’re…interested…is a practical joke.”

“Ouch. Do I really seem so intractable?

She nodded. “Let me prove it then,” he said.

Molly glanced around, as if proof would pop up out of the toaster. Her emotions plainly obvious on her face: confusion, embarrassment and always that tiny bit of hope. He’d done this to her. He wanted her to be happy. Maybe he should just get out of her life completely. Fuck it!

Sherlock leaned down so that their faces were level. He moved slowly so that she could absorb what was happening, and react accordingly. Her breathing was shallow. In another scenario, she might have been about to have an asthma attack, but all research indicated that arousal brought on changes to the respiratory system.

Molly watched, almost as if she were outside her body, as Sherlock leaned down towards her face. He’s going to kiss me, she thought wildly. He was breathing funny, and his pupils had gone quite large. Suddenly, she was tired of waiting. Molly inclined her head and kissed Sherlock. She intended just a quick brush of the lips but he grabbed her tightly, holding her in place. Joined at the mouth but not really kissing, he looked at her fiercely before (and now she knew she was asleep) relaxing his face, tilting his head and closing his eyes. Loosening his grip but not letting go, Sherlock tried to say everything with the kiss. Her lips were so soft and she tasted sweet. Desire welled up in him and he fought the urge to drag her into his bedroom right this instant. Her eyes were half open, and just out of the corner, she saw a tiny red light blinking on top of the kitchen cupboard. She pulled away from Sherlock.

“What the hell is that?” She pointed angrily at the light. He followed her gaze, for once, clueless.

“It looks a lot like a camera to me,” she declared.

Bloody Mycroft, he thought, I’m going to break more than his arm this time.

He opened his mouth to explain but Molly was already shouldering her bag, tears threatening in her eyes. 

“Wait, I can explain.”

“Funny joke was it? Let’s toy with Molly. She’s up for a laugh. How dare you?”

She ran from the room, down the stairs and out on to the pavement. A cab pulled up almost immediately and she got it.

Sherlock walked slowly back into the kitchen. He looked up at the blinking red light.

“You better fix this,” he said to the camera.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was a long chapter but I felt there was no good place to break it!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes, there was no update yesterday – I wasn’t happy with how things were going but today there’s two for the price of one. This second one is much shorter but it again felt like an obvious place to break it. Thanks again for reading and special thanks to Thinkswithpen.

Sherlock paced the living room while he waited for Mycroft to appear. Half an hour passed. He did not show up. Sherlock used the time to find and remove a camera from the shelf in the main room and the offending one in the kitchen. It seemed his bedroom was safe. Finally, Sherlock threw on his coat and jumped in a cab. 20 minutes later, he barged into his brother’s office.

“Have you fixed it yet?”

Mycroft was having tea and little sandwiches. He carefully dabbed his mouth with a crisp linen napkin before speaking.

“Sherlock, what are you talking about?”

“You had surveillance cameras all over my apartment.”

“Well, naturally, but I’m not a security guard. I don’t spend all my time watching them.”

Mycroft’s intercom buzzed and he picked it up.

“Oh? I see. Yes. Thank you.”

Sherlock folded his arms.

“You removed them?”

“Of course I did. I’m sick you putting your nose in where it isn’t wanted. You have potentially ruined…”

“So you are admitting it. I haven’t seen the most recent feed yet but I hear it’s quite salacious.”

“Will I find cameras in her flat too?”

“No. I was actively trying to keep you off the radar during your confinement, remember? Footage of you lolling about in her home was hardly safe.”

“So will you please call her and confirm that they were your cameras?”

“There’s those lovely manners – I knew they had stuck somewhere.”

Mycroft smiled. Perhaps he could take a little time off to fix this problem.

“Leave it with me.”

Sherlock visibly deflated in front of him. He’d obviously been geared up for a big row, expecting to throw his toys out of the pram and possibly threaten to release certain State secrets.

Mycroft smiled his funny little smile.

“Don’t look so shocked: it is my fault. And I’m happy to visit again. She is an excellent baker. Wait for my call before you approach her again.”

Sherlock nodded tightly and left immediately. He might be grateful but he wasn’t quite able to bring himself to be thankful.

oOo

Molly cried silent tears the whole way home in the cab. She’d always thought Sherlock was unnecessarily cruel but this was a whole new level. After all that she’d done for him. Later, she was going to be properly angry, and he’d probably find his morgue access permanently revoked – because, yes, she did have that power, but now she was just sad. Sad that she’d wasted so much time and energy on him, sad that she’d let herself hope, even for a moment, that he might be changing. Mostly she was confused. Pranks were not his style. That camera was undeniable though.

Arriving home, she was greeted by Toby, her cat. He wound his way through her legs and she picked him up.

“At least you love me, huh?”

He purred at the attention.

Molly was no longer in the mood to look pretty, so she got into some tracksuit bottoms and t-shirt. Her evening would now entail extensive sitting on the couch. She’d just finished a batch of meringues with lemon curd and was planning to eat them all for her dinner.

The doorbell rang.

She ignored it. She couldn’t think of anyone important who might show up unannounced.

Then her phone rang. Blocked number. Well they can get lost, she thought.

A text:

It’s Mycroft at the door.  
May I please come in for a moment?

Mycroft?! What the hell? Did Sherlock send him? Was he in on the joke?

Another text:

The camera is mine

Molly leapt up off the couch and yanked the door open.

Mycroft was indeed standing there. He noticed her appearance but graciously did not comment.

“Ah, Molly. Thank you for opening the door, and please forgive my unannounced arrival. I feared you would not entertain me.”  
“I’m not letting you in. Explain yourself.”

“It’s quite simple really. I like to keep tabs on my brother, so I used my work contacts to install cameras in Baker St some years ago. I’m amazed Sherlock never realised before now.”

Molly was horrified.

“What kind of a person does that? Couldn’t you just meet him for coffee once a week to catch up?”

Mycroft fixed her with an expression which clearly said “you have met my brother.”

All of a sudden, Molly disappeared into her living room. Since the door was open, Mycroft presumed he should follow.

“Are there cameras here too?” she said, urgently.

“Oh, no, my dear, of course not. Spying on my brother is one thing. Spying on his lady friend is quite another.”

“I’m not his…lady…what?”

“Well, you do belong to him, whatever the nomenclature. Sherlock collects people. All of them are exceptionally lonely. No, don’t take that as an insult. He’s like a magnet for them. John, with his PTSD, you without a family or love, Mrs Hudson, growing old alone, and Sherlock himself, pushing away those he cares about while still requiring their adulation. Do I smell lemon curd?”

“You do, but you shan’t have any. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Molly looked ashamed of herself too, all of a sudden, as she remembered what she had accused Sherlock of. 

“Don’t worry. He knows I am here. He asked me to come and explain myself.”

“And you just did it? That doesn’t seem terribly in keeping with your relationship.”

“I quite agree. But let’s just say I have a vested interest in keeping you both happy.”

“Are you talking about cake again?”

“Maybe.”

“Get out,” said Molly, but she was at least smiling again.

As she closed the door, a whole new onslaught of emotions hit her. So it wasn’t a trick. He meant what he said, or rather what he didn’t say. Where did that leave them now? Bloody hell. Should she call him?

Mycroft texted Sherlock once he got back to his car.

Path to true love is smoothed.  
She was very easy to convince.  
Play nicely.

Sherlock received the text a moment later. John had just come home.

“Can’t stay,” said Sherlock, meeting him on the stairs.

“Is there a case?” said John.

“Nope. Don’t wait up though.”


	6. Chapter 6

Molly was still standing in her hall way. The news had barely sunk in. Maybe she should go over there? No, John was sure to be home by now and no matter what happened, it was going to happen in private. Just then a text from Sherlock arrived.

He was coming over. Not asking to come over: arrogant bugger.

Well that solved her dilemma. Molly looked down at her clothes. Should she change? It was hardly her most attractive outfit. After another minute deliberating, she swapped it for jeans and a slightly nicer t-shirt. Now, how to solve the blind panic? She wished she were one of those people who were calmed by a drink or a fag. Her eyes fell on the lemon curd and meringues. Perhaps some sugar would help…

Sherlock arrived at Molly’s apartment block in record time. Now that he was here, he realised he didn’t actually have a plan. He’d just have to be himself. He rang her doorbell.

“Hello,” came her voice through the intercom.

“It’s me, Sherlock,” he replied nervously.

She said nothing but the door opened.

When he got to her door, she was waiting at it. She looked terrified. Had he really managed to induce this in her?

“Hi,” he said, almost shyly.

“Sherlock, Mycroft was just here….he explained everything. I’m…”

He cut her off by gently pushing her back into her hallway and closing the door behind him.

“I don’t think we want to have this conversation in the corridor.”  
“Why? Are there cameras out there too?!”

It seemed Molly had recovered her sense of humour. Sherlock grinned in response.

“I really am sorry for jumping to conclusions,” she said earnestly.

“I should have tried harder to explain before you ran away.”

“So…what now?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

“This is all new to me. Presuming my…advances are not unwelcome, I suppose there would traditionally be some sort of kissing.”

“Ok,” Molly wasn’t about to refuse kisses. “Wait, all new to you?”

“Well, considering how many platonic friendships I bother to maintain, how many girlfriends do you think I’ve had?” Sherlock looked like he was finally realising this had been an error on his part.

“You’ve never had a girlfriend – that I can understand – because your work is so important to you,” she added quickly after seeing Sherlock’s disconcerted face. “But you’ve…oh damn, she couldn’t ask him this now…

Molly moved to face him. Barefoot, she was even tinier, and it made her seem more vulnerable, despite Sherlock’s admission that she was actually the expert here. She reached her hand up and stroked his cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into her hand. Standing up on her tiptoes, she kissed him for the second time that day. This time was different – each of them knew the other one wanted it. Molly took her time; slowly a series of little pecks before relaxing into a half open mouth. He had at least kissed someone before, she could tell. She pulled her arms around his neck – he really was too tall for her. Sherlock responded by pulling her tightly and wrapping his arms around her waist. Molly unconsciously breathed out a sigh of relief. She broke off the kiss and dropped back down to her normal height. Sherlock didn’t let go. He rested his chin on the top of her head. It was curiously endearing.

“Let’s sit down,” she said.

Sherlock made to sit down in his “usual” armchair, then changed his mind and sat down beside Molly on the couch. He looked so unsure of himself. Molly wasn’t the type to take pleasure in another’s discomfort but it did amuse her a tiny bit to be the one in charge. She put her hand on his knee. He tensed up and then forced himself to relax.

“I got rid of the cameras. Mycroft promised he won’t put them back up.”

“Good. I bet John wasn’t too pleased hear he’d been watched all those months there on his own.”

Sherlock realised he hadn’t stop to tell John any of this. 

“Actually, he doesn’t know yet. I was just leaving when he came home and I was in too much of a rush to chat.”

“I think that’s enough talking about John for now,” she said.

They sat side by side, just about touching, in silence. Awkward silence. Molly had never been good at bridging silences. Sherlock was not known for his small talk. 

“Is this the hanging out that you wanted to do, Molly?”

She smiled at his tone.

“Well, I was thinking more of watching tv and chatting when I mentioned that before. I didn’t realise that snogging was on the table.”

“On the table? That seems a bit extreme. We have this comfortable couch…” Sherlock trailed off as he got her meaning.

As uncomfortable as he was with the proceedings, he still wanted to make an effort. He put his arm around Molly and she obliged by cuddling into him. It felt right.

Molly was fighting a battle internally. She wanted to jump on his knee and have her way with him. And now that she knew he was inexperienced, it would be her way. He’ll be a fast learner, she thought. But it’s not fair to overwhelm him when it’s all so new. On balance though, she had been waiting a very long time for this. Molly hitched herself up and onto Sherlock’s knee. 

His face registered surprise as she arrived on his lap. But not a bad surprise. 

“You have tiny flecks of gold in your eyes,” he observed.

“I do, yes, always have had. You have a lot more freckles up close.”

“Actually, I have a lot of freckles in general. Does it bother you?”

Molly laughed. “Why on earth would that bother me?!”

“I don’t know.”

That could be his theme song, thought Sherlock. I do not know. There’s time to do research of course but not now. Molly was now running a finger along his hairline. It trailed down over the top of his ear. Oh, that feels good. She dropped her finger and replaced it, oh my, with her tongue. I never would have thought that would be so sensitive. Sherlock leaned his head back while Molly catalogued what seemed to interest him. It was a curious feeling to be the subject for once. He could get used to this kind of ministration. She turned her attention to his neck. Exhaling warmly, she whispered to him.

“Now necks are often an erogenous zone but some people hate it. So do let me know what you think.”  
She lowered her mouth on to his neck, delivering quick kisses all over before licking his pulse, which was rapid. He’d guess just over 100 beats per minute but wasn’t inclined to check properly. The sensation was intense. Molly leaned back and regarded him.

“Not good?”

“I didn’t tell you to stop! But since you have, I’m sure it’s my turn.”

Molly held up a small delicate hand.

“I am in charge. You have acknowledged my supremacy. You’re on my timetable now, mister.” She tipped him on the nose.

“Now that I do not like. Kiss me again.”

She was only too happy to oblige. This third kiss had all the passion that the previous attempts had lacked. Now that Sherlock had admitted to his feelings, it was easier to translate them into a physical response. He kissed her mouth open and she moaned into him. She fought off an attack of giggles as she realised there was more than one tongue in her mouth. Despite her lightness, Sherlock was starting to get a dead leg from her full weight across his lap. He moved one arm under knees and one around her shoulders.

“Hang on to me.”

“Oh Sherlock, do not try to pick me up.”

“I’m getting uncomfortable in this position. Surely you have a bed that would be more suitable.”

“Seriously, I know they do it in movies, but never try to pick up an adult from a recumbent position and stand at the same time. We are sure to both end up on the ground.”

Sherlock liked to learn by experience, so he ignored her comments. And promptly fell on his arse. With Molly on top of him.

“Alright, lesson learned. Get up off me.”

“Oh I don’t know. We’re both lying down now…” her eyes shone with promise.

She propped her elbows up on either side of him but didn’t move. 

“This is going to take some getting used to,” he said, running a hand along her back. She arched into it like a cat stretching.

“Hopefully you’ll enjoy the learning experience…did you, I mean, do you want to stay here tonight or go home?”

Now there was a question. If Sherlock was to be totally honest with himself, he was out of his depth. He didn’t want to do anything wrong and for that to happen, he needed to take some time to think about it all. But he could see Molly clearly wanted him to stay.

“I could stay.”

Molly then proved herself worthy by anticipating.

“Great. I don’t want have sex tonight. I mean, I do, god, I do, but let’s just get used to each other first, ok?” She gripped his arm, as if he might not believe her.

He nodded, quite relieved and, at the same time, a tiny bit disappointed.

“You can leave some of your things here, if you’re going to be staying more regularly.”

Sherlock looked horrified at the notion that his clothes might end up with cat hair on them. Everything else in this apartment was. And then he realised he was lying on the floor, so it was already too late for these clothes.

They sat around watching TV and drinking tea for the rest of the evening – exactly what Molly had wanted originally but now with added kisses and cuddles. Even Toby tried to get in on the action by hopping up between them. Sherlock was tempted to push him away. He thought attacking her pet might not go down well. Eventually it was time for bed.

“Which side of the bed do you want?” she asked.

“It hardly matters.”

They got into the bed. Molly turned on her side to face Sherlock.

“This is really weird.”

“Thanks. Just what every man wants to hear in bed.”

Molly giggled.

“Well it is. Today’s been weird all round. Ten grand richer and a boyfriend.”

“Who said anything about being your boyfriend?”

“Who said it was you?” she deadpanned. She lasted about 4 seconds before breaking down and kissing him soundly.

What a difference a day made…


	7. Epilogue

When Molly woke the following morning, she was alone. She felt the other side of the bed: cool. So he was gone a while. Her hand brushed a piece of paper. Squinting in the dim light which filtered through her curtains, she read

“Couldn’t sleep. Went home. Come to Baker St later if convenient. In fact, come even if it isn’t.  
SH”

Molly rolled over and looked at the clock. It was already 11am. Of course that’s what Sundays are made for. She reached for her phone and sent Sherlock a text.

What time do you want me over?  
x

Now, of course.  
SH

Gosh, just as demanding as ever. Despite that, she still got up and was on her way over to Baker St an hour later, slightly irritated at her own willingness.

John answered the door. His eyes widened and he raised an eyebrow when he was saw who it was.

“Hey, Molly, what are you doing here?”

“Sherlock asked me to come over.”

“He did?”

Molly smiled but even John’s human level of perception noticed it wasn’t a real smile. She ran up the stairs ahead of him.

Sherlock was at the window, in his dressing gown, playing the violin. He did not turn around.

“Ah, Molly, what took you so long?”

“Breakfast, showering, you know…ordinary things.”

She came up behind him and tapped his shoulder.

“You didn’t tell John,” she hissed.

“Correct.” He raised his voice; “John, Molly’s coming over, I forgot to tell you.”

Molly grabbed his arm and squeezed hard, forcing him to turn around. Through clenched teeth, she said;

“No, you did not tell him!”

John arrived back in the room and surveyed the strange tableau before him.

Molly had Sherlock’s arm in a vice grip and he was making a classic “what did I do?” face. Something was very off.

“What’s going on here then?” he asked.

Molly let go of Sherlock and sat down in the armchair. She crossed her legs and bounced her foot up and down. She glared at Sherlock who looked back at her stubbornly. It was like a Mexican standoff. Molly appeared to win.

“John, we have something to tell you,” he said finally.

“Ok. Is this about a case?”

“Ha!” exclaimed Molly.

“Not exactly. Do you remember when we met and you asked if I had a girlfriend and I said it wasn’t really my area?” his words came out in a rush.

“Yeah…what’s this all about it?”

“I changed my mind.”

“About what?”

Sherlock gestured at Molly, who beamed.

John was still confused.

“Oh do keep up. Do I have to spell it out for you, John? You’re remarkably slow before your second cup of coffee!”

“John, Sherlock told me yesterday that he has feelings for me. He stayed at my place last night.” Molly spoke smoothly, her doctor voice, quiet but confident. 

John slumped down onto the couch. He looked at Molly, blinked and then at Sherlock.

“Is this a joke?”

“Ha!” said Molly again. “That’s what I said when he told me!”

“Molly, I apologise in advance for what I’m about to say. It has no bearing on you whatsoever,” said John.

Molly nodded, not quite sure what she was sanctioning.

“Sherlock, are you quite alright? Have you been taking drugs again?” John asked.

Sherlock exhaled noisily.

“John, I am fine. No, I am not taking drugs again. I haven’t run tests yet but I suspect that I’ll have increased levels of various hormones. Is it so unbelievable that I might be interested in a woman?”

John threw another apologetic glance at Molly.

“Well, yes. I knew that faking your death was going to have changed you but I just didn’t expect you to turn into a normal man!”

“I remain unchanged in most respects. I thought you would be happy for me, for us.”

“Oh I will be, once I’m sure you’re not up to something! He’s an excellent actor, you know,” he added to Molly.

She had had enough.

“He’s not up to something, John. I’m quite sure.”

“Better not be. I know where you live, Sherlock!”

“Are we done here?” Sherlock was already growing tired of this conversation.

“Carry on…I’ll just sit here and observe you both.”

Sherlock picked his bow back up and resumed playing.

“Er, Sherlock, what am I doing here?” asked Molly.

“You wanted to hang out. We are hanging out.”

“Does this hanging out consist of me watching you play the violin?”

“Well, you don’t have to watch me. You can just listen and read or something.”

“This is going to be brilliant,” said John. He folded his arms and settled in for the show.

Molly sat back in her chair. The thought of what she was getting herself in for hit her all at once. In all the time that she’d wanted to be Sherlock’s girlfriend, his lover, it never occurred to her that she would also be his official number 1 groupie. What would this entail that she didn’t already do? Would she be his Penny Lane, his Band Aid, his shoulder to cry on – surely he never cried – but would he be hers? One could always hope…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So rather to my own surprise, I find this story is finished. I wrote half of another chapter but it just didn’t seem to go well. I’ll reuse it in some other fic. Hope you enjoyed this one.


End file.
